


Not One of the Mad Ones

by hmweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Depressed Albus Severus Potter, Depression, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Possible Future Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Schizophrenia, Schizophrenic Scorpius Malfoy, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 21:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmweasley/pseuds/hmweasley
Summary: After Albus attempts suicide, he winds up in a psychiatric hospital where he meets Scorpius, a boy who might change his mind about the people around him.





	Not One of the Mad Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Content notice: This story takes place entirely after Albus attempts suicide, but suicide is talked about rather bluntly. Albus also uses some derogatory language to talk about mental illness and people who are mentally ill.
> 
> Prompts:  
> (dialogue) "We're all mad here."  
> (weather) warm  
> (colour) forest green

They were never supposed to find him. Albus had timed it perfectly. He’d mapped out when no one in his family would be home for several hours; he’d bought the painkillers by himself and stashed them under his bed to make sure no one else found them. It had all been planned out, right down to the suicide note he’d leave to speak for him in his absence.

It was supposed to work out perfectly, but the universe hadn’t been done screwing him over. Since he’d woken up in the hospital with his dad hovering over him, tears making his usually emerald eyes look like a dark forest green, he’d been told repeatedly that the failure of his suicide was a sign he was meant to live. He knew it was actually the universe laughing at him again.

Even if he’d known he’d be caught though, he’d never have expected to be sent to the madhouse.

Each time he called it that, he got exasperated reactions from the staff: It wasn’t a madhouse; it was a psychiatric hospital. He was insulting the patients by calling it such a derogatory name. None of the doctors or nurses cared that he was one of those patients when they scolded him for using the term.

He wasn’t the only one who was there because of a suicide attempt, but there were a number of patients, all under eighteen, who had been there far longer than Albus expected to be. He didn’t know what most of them had been diagnosed with, but his brain could fill in the blanks with any number of things. Albus wondered if some of them would ever be discharged or if they would age out of the hospital instead.

Albus had a better projected outcome than that. While he had no expectations of being cured like the doctors implied was possible, he knew he could at least fake improvement until they let him out. It was only a matter of learning what they wanted to see from him.

The staff, knowing that he was prone to suicidal thoughts, did their best to keep him occupied at all times, and though many of the distractions they provided were laughable, Albus indulged them most of the time, knowing that sitting in his room with his thoughts really wasn’t a good idea even if he hated most of their activities.

He’d spent more time out in the hospital’s garden in the past week than he’d spent outdoors in the entire past year, and he had begrudgingly told one of the nurses that he found it more pleasant than being indoors, which led to even more scheduled time outside. It was one thing he couldn’t complain about. The autumn air was unseasonably warm, and the changing leaves gave Albus something to look at that wasn’t the white walls of his room.

An assigned nurse hovered several meters away, but he left Albus alone as long as Albus didn’t look like he was about to off himself with some rose thorns.

Other patients were wandering around too, but Albus had been hesitant about getting close to any of them since he’d arrived. Some of them appeared sane enough, but he felt unsure each time he was around them. And he had no desire to explain to others why he’d been thrown in the hospital in the first place.

That’s why his heart rate picked up speed when he saw Scorpius approaching him in the garden.

Scorpius had caught his attention when he’d eaten in the cafeteria during his first day. The blonde boy was far too happy for someone locked up in a mental institution. The first time Albus had noticed him, he had been irritated that Scorpius wouldn’t stop laughing so loudly that it carried throughout the cafeteria, but over the past several days, he had become intrigued by the boy who was more beautiful than he had any right to be.

Though he had no idea what Scorpius’ diagnosis was, he was sure it wasn’t depression like his. He smiled too much.

“Hello!”

Albus looked up, squinting in the sunlight, and nodded. Without waiting for an invitation, Scorpius plopped down beside him on the bench.

“I’m Scorpius Malfoy,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Albus raised an eyebrow but shook Scorpius’ offered hand nonetheless.

“Albus Potter,” he said, feeling weird about using his full name as if they were potential business associates or something equally formal and not two kids stuck in a hospital.

“You don’t talk to anyone much,” Scorpius said unceremoniously.

When Albus narrowed his eyes in response, Scorpius raised his hands in mock surrender, a small smile on his lips.

“It’s true,” he said. “You know, ranting helps sometimes, and you have plenty of people to rant to, not just the therapists. You don’t have to worry about us thinking you’re odd. Andrew likes to tell people about his fantasies of starting a colony in space where people wear leotards every day, and we’re still friends with him.”

“I’m not mad,” Albus said, staring straight ahead.

“We’re all mad here,” Scorpius said with a shrug, not sounding the least bit offended like Albus had expected him to be. “That’s why we get put in here. It certainly wasn’t for vacation. The food here is terrible.”

Albus glanced at Scorpius from the corner of his eye, trying to decide how blunt he could be without earning anger in response. Part of him worried that, if he said the wrong thing, Scorpius would break in some way. He still didn’t know what exactly was wrong with him after all.

“I tried to kill myself,” he admitted, “but I meant that I’m not mad in the way some of the others here are.”

Scorpius didn’t yell at him, but his smile did tighten in a way that told Albus he didn’t approve of what he’d said.

“So, are you depressed?”

He waited for Albus’ nod before continuing to speak.

“Lots of others in here are depressed too. You’re not exactly unique. But I think you should talk to some of us who are in here for other things because you’d probably be surprised at what we have to say. ‘Insane’ doesn’t usually look like what the people outside this hospital think it does. Hell, most of us swore we weren’t one of the ‘mad ones’ for a long time before we wound up here.”

Albus analyzed Scorpius’ features but could find nothing off in his demeanor. His curiosity was beginning to overcome any sense of propriety, but he also had no idea what propriety existed inside a psychiatric hospital. He’d been told repeatedly to talk about his own mental illness, so maybe it wasn’t a taboo to ask others about theirs.

“You don’t seem mad to me,” he said.

Scorpius grinned.

“I’m schizophrenic,” he said in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather.

Albus blinked at him several times, wondering how much Scorpius had needed to say those words before he could get them out casually.

He tried to reconcile what he knew about schizophrenia with the boy sitting in front of him, but it was impossible for him to do. It didn’t add up. He wanted to ask if Scorpius was having any hallucinations as they talked, like seeing strange people standing behind Albus or something equally bizarre, but he knew such questions might not be well received. Instead, he couldn’t stop staring at the boy, who shrugged off Albus’ blatant curiosity.

“I’m doing good right now,” he said. “They’ve got a good handle on my antipsychotics, and I’m talking to my therapist every day. Actually, I may be released soon. Not that the schizophrenia will ever be gone. It’s still hard a lot of the time, but I might be able to make it out in the real world.”

“I’m sorry,” Albus said, at a loss for anything else.

“Don’t apologize,” Scorpius said with a shake of his head. “You didn’t give me schizophrenia, and I’m sure you have your own problems. Trying to kill myself is one thing I haven’t done yet.”

Albus cringed and looked away.

“Sorry,” Scorpius said. “I shouldn’t have made that joke.”

“No, it’s fine,” Albus said, trying to smile. “I called everyone here mad earlier, so it’s not like I can complain.”

He stared into the distance for a moment, trying to ignore the feeling of Scorpius’ eyes on him. Finally, Scorpius spoke again.

“For whatever my advice is worth, I recommend actually talking to the therapists here. They do help. And friends are always a plus.” He stood up and held out his hand for Albus to take. “They make everything easier.”

Albus looked at Scorpius’ hand for a moment before taking it and allowing the other boy to help him stand.

“Friends might be nice,” he concluded, returning Scorpius’ smile.

He didn’t admit that he hadn’t actually had friends for the past couple of years. Those admissions would come in time, as would some informative lessons on what having schizophrenia was actually like and a lot more.


End file.
